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Shabana Mahmood was in a determined frame of mind. It was time to get serious. No more Mr Nice Guy stuff when dealing with illegal immigrants. Not that there was anything like a legal immigrant as far as she was concerned. The only good migrant was a deported migrant. She laced up her Dr Martens. It was Kicking A Door In o’clock. Starting with her own.
Shabana Mahmood had been dozing in bed when Shabana Mahmood had burst into her room and pulled back the duvet. Shabana forced her eyes open, trying to make sense of this unexpected intrusion. She reached for her phone. Where was her security detail? Surely this must be a mistake.
“Right,” said Shabana. “Get yourself dressed in this orange jump-suit. And don’t mess about. You’re due at the processing centre within the hour. You’ll be on a plane home by the end of the day. If you can call where you’re going home.”
“But I am home,” said Shabana. “I was born here.”
“What’s that got to do with anything? That was then, this is now. People like you have been taking advantage of the system for years. So there are going to be some changes round here. I know we said the deportations wouldn’t be retrospective and we’d make you wait 20 years before you became British but that was because we were being too soft. We’re now going to increase that to 50 years. With surprise assessments every few weeks. And you’ve just missed your 5am one. Which means you are in breach of your visa regulations.”
“I need to call Keir Starmer,” Shabana sobbed. “He will vouch for me. There must have been some mistake.”
“No mistake,” Shabana snarled. “And don’t go bleating to Keir. He’s the one who signed off on all this.
“Can’t you just give me a few more days? Why don’t you go and deport David Lammy first? I can give you his address.”
“Nice try. But we’ve beaten you to it. There’s an ICE squad already on its way round to the justice secretary. This government is committed to fairness and equality. There will be no special cases or exemptions.”
“I am British,” Shabana cried, becoming ever more desperate. “I’ve got a British passport. I’ll get it for you.”
Shabana laughed. “I think you’ll find that you had a British passport. Oh, look. It expired at midnight last night. How sad. We can’t have you hanging around here when the country your parents emigrated from is perfectly safe. The thing is, we’ve decided you’ve overstayed your welcome. So off you go.”
“This can’t be right. I couldn’t be more British if I tried. I’ve integrated so well I’ve even become home secretary. I’m a Labour politician whom Reform are happy to call one of their own. I have a couple of Union Jacks to drape myself in when I appear on GB News. I’ll even sign something to say I hate immigrants.”
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“Not good enough, I’m afraid,” said Shabana. “The thing is you still look foreign. So pack up your things. On second thoughts, don’t bother. Because we’re going to take all your possessions anyway. Everything from your phone, your jewellery to your house. Just so no one comes over here with the idea that they can come over here, contribute and make a life for themselves.”
Shabana was a broken woman. Crying as Shabana bundled her into the back of a van. Shabana smiled. She loved the smell of napalm in the morning. What better start to the day could there be than to deport herself?
Over in Downing Street, Keir Starmer was deep in conversation with Rachel Reeves. “We are finally delivering on the things we promised to deliver on,” he said with his customary clarity and insight.
“I love it when you talk dirty,” Rachel replied.
“We need to see these mass deportations as a business opportunity,” he said. “So I’m setting up a new department of looting with Darren Jones as secretary of state. Dazza’s job will be to collect as many assets off immigrants as possible. Homes here, homes abroad – not forgetting the ones that have been bombed to smithereens – TVs, everything. Even gold teeth. That should be more than enough to cover any black holes in your forthcoming budget. Who needs tax rises?”
“You think of everything.”
Fresh from deporting herself, Shabana appeared in the commons late on Monday afternoon to give an update on her asylum and deportation policy. The system was broken, she said. There were dark forces at work. Somehow she made this sound as if she thought this was a good thing. You could almost sense the regret Labour had abandoned the Rwanda scheme. We would always offer sanctuary to people who needed it. That was the kind of country Britain was.
But the difference would be that we would now make sure we kicked them out as soon as possible. She was sick of us being seen as a soft touch. You just couldn’t trust refugees these days. Most of them initiated their own persecution and risked death to get here just because they wanted to stay in an asylum hotel in Essex where they could be abused by locals. That for them was living the dream. Well, there would be no more of that. The signs were going up. Britain was full. No blacks, no dogs, no Irish. Shabana gave her word. Reinterpret Articles 2 and 8 of the European convention on human rights and nobody need ever see a foreigner again.
We had expected Chris Philp to reply for the Conservatives. But Kemi Badenoch clearly doesn’t trust him to generate the right levels of hatred, so she chose to take his place. As so often, her speech dripped with condescension. She congratulated Mahmood for taking baby steps in the right direction. Being unpleasant to immigrants takes a lot of time and hard work.
The Conservatives would work with the home secretary’s therapist to help her channel her inner prejudice more effectively. Because the measures Shabana was proposing just didn’t go far enough. Nothing short of firing squads on the beach, followed by repatriation of the bodies would be enough. Extermination not integration. What do we want? Mass extinction. When do we want it? Now.
There were few Tories in the commons for the statement – most can’t see the point of getting out of bed these days, let alone coming to work – but the Labour benches were packed. Some made loud noises of support. Most looked genuinely queasy. This was not what they had joined the party for. What had happened to compassion? They were doubtful the policy would even work as suggested. Mahmood was resolute. The deportations could easily be extended to her own backbenchers. Watch this space.
